Westminster Bank

This meant the only train passing through this section of track was the next one, which was also the last one for the day.

Baron glanced at the sunset in the distance. The sun was about to go down, and the white mist in the sky descended with it. He was certain that once darkness fell completely, the Beasts and Demons slumbering within the fog would awaken.

He estimated the time. Generally speaking, the travel time from Wales to Inner London varied depending on whether one was in North or South Wales.

According to Jack, the Magic Train was an express train, just a bit faster than a regular one. By his estimate, the trip from South Wales to London would take two to three hours, while the trip from North Wales to London would take one hour.

And the place they were currently in, Bedegrat, was located in North Wales.

There were ten minutes, at most, before the sun set completely. The fog would blanket the land then, and Beasts and Demons would begin to prowl within it.

It seemed Baron and his companion weren’t the only unlucky ones; so were the people on that train.

But as luck would have it, Baron and his companion were planning to board that very train.

RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE!

A nine-car Magic Train came racing out of the lingering sunset glow, spewing thick white steam. It snaked along the tracks like a black serpent swimming through the sea.

The train entered the tunnel beneath them. Half a minute later, when it emerged, the two of them were already aboard. They had used a Spear Sword to cut a hole into one of the train’s lavatories and disguised themselves as passengers. With the help of the kind Lady Hat, they avoided the harassment of the Old Blood Nobility and the ticket check from an arrogant conductor, making their way into car number nine—a car crammed with the lower class, a chaotic mix of all sorts.

The car was crowded. It was full of red-haired people from Ireland and coastal Old Race whose speech carried the stench of fish.

Presumably to cram everyone in, there were no seats. Everyone was squatting in a corner, guarding their own little patch of territory.

The car was completely enclosed, without a single window. The air had the damp smell of poverty.

Seeing Baron and Jack arrive, the people in the car merely glanced at them once. Aside from a flicker of surprise—the two didn’t seem like the type of people who would be in this car, judging by their bearing—they quickly returned to their own business: kneading the Magic Shards in their hands into Magic Balls.

Seeing Baron staring blankly at what the people were doing, Jack whispered, "Magic Shards are the Spirit Power-rich scraps left over when Wizards use Magic or when Alchemists create their alchemy items. After gathering these scraps, a member of the Old Race can infuse them with Spiritual Power and knead them vigorously. This temporarily condenses them into a Magic Ball."

"These Magic Balls are the fuel that keeps this Magic Train running."

"The Magic Shards are somewhat irritating to human skin, and they also corrode the Spiritual Power of the Old Race. And since the process requires the involvement of an Old Race, the train company outsources this work to the passengers in car number nine. They perform this labor in exchange for a free ticket or a discount."

’No wonder their hands are raw and bloody,’ Baron thought. ’Is it because they’ve been corroded by the Magic Shards?’

Baron’s gaze swept across the car. He suddenly noticed a little girl squatting in a corner, hugging her knees. Beside her, a decrepit old man was kneading a Magic Ball with trembling hands. He was probably the girl’s grandfather.

There was an empty circle around the two of them. The surrounding people seemed to be avoiding the grandfather and granddaughter at all costs; some would rather stand than sit near them.

Using his Dragon Knight’s hearing to eavesdrop on the surrounding whispers, Baron learned that this scene was because the girl had been tainted by Demon’s Blood after the fog rolled in.

The main signs were the large, burn-like scars on her face, her snow-white hair... and the animal ears, like those of some canine species, growing from her head. It was said that those infected with Demon’s Blood would grow organs corresponding to the demon’s characteristics.

’For a split second, these distinct features and the crowd’s reaction reminded him of that whoring... ahem, that Blood Loss Knight, Morey, from Prole.’

’These people don’t know a damn thing about demonic infections. This is obviously one of those legendary, rare, white-haired beast-girls!’

So, ignoring the stares of those around him, Baron took Jack and sat down right next to the girl. In truth, Baron didn’t want to cause any trouble, but the only empty space left to sit was next to her.

If he and Jack just stood there, given how packed car number nine was, Baron figured the "hard object" at his waist would easily be noticed—he was talking about his Spear Sword, of course.

Startled by the sudden arrival of Baron and Jack, the girl scooted to the side. Baron scooted over too. Now a little scared, the little girl scooted away again, and Baron followed.

The little girl panicked, and her body began to tremble slightly.

Baron put aside his playful teasing and was about to comfort her when the old man, presumably her grandfather, suddenly looked at him. His dry, wrinkled face, like the bark of an old tree, squeezed into a fawning, sycophantic smile:

"Respected Sir, has Vivian offended you in some way?"

"Of course he is! He’s afraid of being tainted by your granddaughter’s Demon’s Blood... We’re all from the lower class, I really don’t get why you’d bring her on the train when you know she has Demon’s Blood... What if the fog rolls in and she attracts Demons..."

"I can’t figure it out. The old man is an Old Race, but his granddaughter is a Bloodless. Look at him, you think he’s a Saracen? I heard people there are still into wife-swapping..."

"Just wait for the show. That old man hasn’t finished making his Magic Balls yet. There’s no way that’s enough for two tickets."

The surrounding passengers started chattering away, reminding Baron of the village aunties from his past life who, upon seeing him ride by on his electric scooter, would gossip that he’d gone bankrupt from whoring and had to sell his Mercedes-Benz—even though he could never afford a Benz in the first place.

The little girl Vivian’s face turned pale. She hugged the old man fearfully, softly calling out, "Grandpa."

’Please don’t be another one who discriminates based on bloodline...’

A chill went through the old man’s heart. He hurriedly said, "I know that lowly people like us, infected with Demon’s Blood, have no right..."

Baron shook his head. "No, not at all. I just think she’s very cute and wanted to pet her ears."

"...no right..." The old man’s words stopped abruptly.

The chatter from the other passengers also ceased, as if a knife had sliced through a thread, cut short by the rumbling of the moving train.

Little Vivian also looked up in surprise. The big brother in front of her, his face obscured by a black trench coat, paid no mind to the scrutinizing gazes around them. He offered her a Gold Coin Chocolate. "Want a sweet?"

The blond-haired uncle next to him said, "Damn, L, you should’ve said you had chocolate! I’m starving!"

As it turned out, the sweets that could conquer a human child could also conquer a little girl with beast ears.

Using chocolate and a line of conversation that would’ve earned him a minimum of three years in prison—and a maximum of the death penalty—in his past life, Baron easily won the trust of the grandfather and granddaughter.

And from them, he learned the purpose and reason for their journey.

The old man’s name was Dunbar. He was an ordinary herb collector from a small village in the North Wales countryside called Bertelili Town. His main job was to go into the mountains to gather certain herbs required for Magic Potions and sell them to a local Alchemist’s herb supplier.

Vivian was his granddaughter.

His son and daughter-in-law had been killed many years ago in a sudden Dragon Tide. Since then, he had raised the young Vivian, and the two of them had only each other to rely on.

Though their life was simple, it was fulfilling.

But that fulfilling life came to an end a few days ago with the sudden arrival of the white fog. From this, Baron noted that the fog on the Inner Side was completely chaotic, the polar opposite of the orderly, rule-bound Foggy Days in Prole.

The aftershocks from a battle between Demon Hunters and a Beast accidentally struck Dunbar’s house in the Welsh countryside. The house collapsed, and Demon’s Blood splattered onto Vivian as she slept.

Dunbar went to find the Bertelili Demon Hunters responsible for handling the incident. According to the contract they signed when they paid the exorbitant fog fee, the Bertelili Demon Hunters were obligated to help cleanse the Demon’s Blood from Vivian and provide partial compensation for the damage to their house.

But the ideal is one thing, and reality is another. Unsurprisingly, the local Demon Hunter Association refused them. Even their property damage claim with the government was suppressed.

As an ordinary member of the Old Race, Dunbar certainly didn’t dare to cause trouble with the high and mighty Law Enforcers, whose social standing was far above his own. But he couldn’t just let things drag on, either. After all, Demon’s Blood was extremely harmful to the human body.

So, with financial help from some of their local neighbors and friends, the grandfather and granddaughter decided to go to Inner London to find the Demon Hunter Association headquarters. They hoped they could explain the situation and get some compensation to treat the corrosion from the Demon’s Blood.

And that was why they were on this train.